


Ultraviolence

by KatsudonLink



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: And Yuri is about 23, Blood, Dark!Otabek, Gore, Graphic descriptions, I figure Otabek is about 27, M/M, Mafia AU, Murder, Otabek being nasty tbh, Russian Mafia, Sadism, Serial Killer Otabek, Son of the Mafia Boss Yuri, Torture, Violence, bodyguard otabek, instability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-06 04:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10325405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatsudonLink/pseuds/KatsudonLink
Summary: Otabek wants to break Yuri apart and put him back together again, knowing he isn't the same.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fendrion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fendrion/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't gamble."
> 
> He gambles.
> 
> Otabek's lies hit the floor like a pair of dice about to determine his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenya: a slang language of Russian "thieves in law" that only very few people can understand.
> 
> Bother me on [tumblr](http://www.haikyoon.tumblr.com).
> 
> Join my [discord server](https://discord.gg/p9q7cYE) if you want to make some friends you can talk about Yuri on Ice, Haikyuu!!, Killing Stalking etc. with!

"Otabek! Stop! _Stop! Stop it!_ "

Otabek does stop the moment the ringing in his ears finally fade enough to make him hear it. The voice has grown shrill and breathless from screaming, so it takes him a moment to recognise who it belongs to. It's not often he hears a twinge of helplessness in that particular voice, and it gives him a tiny bit of satisfaction.

His vision, bit by bit, starts clearing up, and his gaze falls down to try to recognise his surroundings as that is where gravity is pulling him. However, he quickly notices that there is nothing _to_ recognise. The face of the man underneath him is anything but recognisable, perhaps even to someone who could somehow see past the open wounds and the blood bubbling from his lax mouth. He uncurls his fingers from his collar, and the man hits the floor with a dull thud, but he doesn't even make one of those grunting noises that Otabek distantly remembers him letting out a short while ago at the back of his head. This quickly makes him lose interest in pursuing what he had been doing.

"...Jesus Christ Altin."

Otabek doesn't respond to the exasperated voice. Instead, he finds himself getting up from over the unmoving man, then dusting off his knees. Well, this shirt is going to be in need of a good wash. He wrinkles his nose as he remembers it's Saturday, and his dry cleaner's will be closed tomorrow. People in other stores don’t take too long before they start wondering why the hell he is so clumsy with his cranberry juice.

"He couldn't have been _that_ dangerous."

Otabek finally looks at him. It's the first time Yuri has seen him like this, but it's only mildly inconvenient for now. Otabek takes one more look at the empty face before he rolls the body over with his foot, careful of his Solferino Derby Louis Vuitton shoes, and then reaches down for the man's wallet.

"He was looking at you all night." Otabek speaks calmly as he reads over the man's ID. 25. Australian. Enrolled in some university nearby. Probably just walked into the wrong bar. It's always worse if they are civilians, so much more annoying to cover up. "He was speaking in _fenya_ with the man next to him."

He doesn't know exactly when Yuri found them in the alleyway. He doesn't even know when the kisses between them turned to choking. Bad time to lose himself like that, such a bad time; he hadn't meant for things to go like that. It's a relatively recent and alarming thing, his usual duties not being enough for him anymore. It's something he very much intends to keep under the covers for the sake of his job and his life.

"I heard them say your name."

"Altin."

"I don't gamble."

He gambles.

Otabek's lies hit the floor like a pair of dice about to determine his fate. He looks at Yuri with half clenched teeth, a feeling that resembles hope lurking inside him and waits to be found out.

He waits for Yuri to snatch the ID card from his hand and tell him he's lying, for Yuri to spit on his face with disgust at what he has done, for Yuri to run away in horror at the realisation that _this is the man I trust to protect me_. He waits and waits for something, _anything_ to happen.

Nothing does. And for a moment Otabek is relieved but that emotion quickly gets overcome with an overwhelming sense of revulsion that doesn't show up on his face.

Yuri instead is checking his phone, looking just a tiny bit distressed. Otabek knows it's not his first time being near someone who is either dead or very much dying, so this distress is directed at either him or what he's reading on the screen. Even though for the first time, the odds are so heavily for him, it's not enough, and Otabek barely even feels a hint of a rush. It pisses him off, so he makes a motion to light a cigarette.

"The car is here." Yuri says before his hand could reach his pocket.

"You go. I'll take care of this." Otabek replies, nodding toward the man who still hasn't moved, making Otabek even surer that he won't ever be able to move again.

Yuri gives him a small nod and momentarily looks at the bloody lump awkwardly sprawled on the ground before his gaze returns back up at Otabek. Otabek can't recognise the emotion that passes Yuri's face. He watches him turn around, starting to leave. "You have to be more careful Altin." Yuri breathes out. "I won't tell, but..." His voice trails off as he meets Otabek's gaze from over his shoulder and then turns the corner, walking out of the dimly lit alley without finishing what he was going to say.

Yuri knows he is teasing him, he _must_ know since Yuri likes to play with fire, but Otabek is an inferno ready to swallow him, and it just makes things funnier really, but it mainly makes him want to bang Yuri's pretty little head against a brick wall, and let him drown out Otabek calling him a _fucking slut_ with his screams.

The only thing he can then think of is how much his knuckles hurt and how hungry he is. With closer inspection he notices there is a tooth lodged in the back of one of his fingers, and it makes him chuckle quietly to himself. He takes it out, tosses it in his mouth without thinking for too long and sucks on it with his hands pushed in his pockets, not much caring about the blood flowing out of his finger because the suit is kind of ruined already.

He takes one last look at the sorry excuse of a human being right next to his feet and wishes just for a little while that he wasn't so damn hard so he could piss all over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [mercury](http://www.mercuryandglass.tumblr.com)~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he enters the room he notices that there is only a slight problem with this situation and it’s not even the occasionally flickering of the fluorescent lighting that he remembers he forgot to take care of.
> 
> It’s that the man in front of him tied to a chair with a knot that Otabek can only consider as lazy already knows he’s going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bratva: translates to "brotherhood", it is what the Russian Mafia is called. 
> 
> Pakhan: The boss of the Russian Mafia, also called Papa.
> 
> Bother me on [tumblr](http://www.haikyoon.tumblr.com).
> 
> Join my [discord server](http://www.discordapp.com/invite/CHnrbXJ) if you want to make some friends you can talk about Yuri on Ice, Haikyuu!!, Killing Stalking etc. with!

It starts out as a bad day.

Firstly it’s raining, and ironically Otabek is more of a sunshine kind of man. He’s not sure why people enjoy the rain so much. If he tries to have a little fun outside it washes away everything before he can even relish it. Moving them becomes so much more of a task too. Sometimes he swears that dead bodies are more efficient than sponges at sucking up water all the while somehow still remaining to be utterly useless.

Secondly, he notices that the small stain on his favourite silk Armani tie _that he has given to the dry cleaner’s two times already_ is still there. His silver tie clip does nothing to cover it. He can’t help but scratch at it with his nails again and again on his way to Yuri’s, twice stopping himself from turning back home to change it, thrice stopping himself from taking a short detour to impale his dry cleaner’s head on a stick. It’s like a fly constantly going just in and out of his vision. For a while it seems like everyone passing by him is looking at the stain with disapprovement and the only fragment of comfort he finds is when he checks his phone at a red light.

Suddenly it becomes a really good day.

* * *

As he enters the room he notices that there is only a slight problem with this situation and it’s not even the occasionally flickering of the fluorescent lighting that he remembers he forgot to take care of.

It’s that the man in front of him tied to a chair with a knot that Otabek can only consider as _lazy_ already knows he’s going to die.

He can tell this is the case the moment he opens the door because the man flinches so hard that the chair he is sitting on moves back a few centimeters. The sound of metal scraping against the concrete floor bounces off the pale and bare walls to form a barely there echo, mixing in with the incoherent babbling sealed behind the silver tape on his mouth. All Otabek can do is let out an irritated sigh.

It’s not a matter of logically knowing that yes, I have betrayed my family in one way or another (Otabek doesn’t care enough to remember), and they have ordered for my death. It’s more, this man factually realises that this could very well be his last moments alive but not yet fully accepts that his story ends here. This is where they scream the loudest, this is where they offer him money, this is where _all of them_ start to pray.

Otabek takes a step forward, feeling some disappointment even though the expression of pure horror on the man’s face is admittedly sweet. It would have been so much sweeter if he had been allowed to put it there himself, if the man just hadn’t been so selfish and waited five more goddamn minutes to realise that he actually was going to die if he didn’t do something _fast_.

The text had told him the middle aged man sitting in front of him was a _Brigadier_ ; he had been in charge of other men ranking lower than him. This means that he has a very good grasp of the rules of the _Bratva_ , so there isn’t any reason for him to even _think_ he can escape this. There is still a sick glimmer of hope in his cloudy eyes that so desperately asks for stabbing.

When Otabek takes another step forward, he notices the middle of the tape on the man’s mouth moving back and forth.

“You’re hyperventilating.” Otabek says in what he perceives to be a gentle tone. This is something he has to be careful about, he doesn’t want the man to pass out so easily.

The response is a high-pitched whine and it makes him sneer.

_I’ve killed people twenty years younger than you, they were scared less. Pathetic. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Your dying wish is for me to not enjoy this. Even at your death’s door, you are a complete and utter let down to everyone around you._

He takes in a breath, displeased. This has happened before. The moment he picks up a knife the man is going to hyperventilate even more and this means if Otabek doesn’t start hurting him very soon, he’ll lose consciousness and this whole thing won’t be even worth his time. He had wanted to take his time. He had wanted to thoroughly enjoy this.

He curls his fingers into fists.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.It’s fine.It’s fine.It’s fine. _It’s fine._

It’s fine. He can still enjoy this. It’s been a full week since he could last indulge and this is basically a blessing so Otabek tells himself to be grateful.

A full week of sitting on his couch in his free time, half naked, empty beer cans and take out boxes littered on the floor, his cock in his hand, stroking it to blonde girls with big tits and fake nails on the television talking about meaningless things while trying to pretend he exists.

Otabek rips out the silver tape in one motion.

“Otabek! _Ota-_ ” The voice chokes on itself. The man is trembling and there is a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. “You-...you don’t have to do this...Otabek...You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You’ll listen to me, right? You’ll listen to me. You don’t have to do this.”

The fake sweetness of the words laced with the urgency of his tone grounds Otabek so much that his lips relax into a small smile. He’s finally starting to enjoy this.

The man however, seems to mistake his expression for something else. Otabek can see the way the ropes that hug his forearms becoming a little loose as he deflates and bows his head down.

“It was all for the Bratva. You understand Otabek, you understand I never-” He swallows nervously, momentarily interrupting himself. “I never meant to betray my family. The Bratva comes before my own blood. You must know this. My own blood. I’m a good man-” He squeezes his eyes and whispers breathily. “ _I’m a good man_.”

This is very funny to Otabek so he lets him talk and he lets him believe even just for a little bit that he will walk out of here.

Still smiling, he replies. “A good man in the Bratva, huh? That’s not something you hear everyday.”

“Otabek-”

“You know how things go around here.” He cuts him off, slowly moving to the side of the room to unhook the yellow raincoat hanging from the wooden coat rack. It’s one of those rare occasions that he is allowed to be messy but that does not mean he’s going to get any blood on his navy Westwood suit.

There is a sob from across the room.

“My-my wife. Jesus my _kids_.”

Otabek pushes his arm inside the raincoat. “Remember thinking about this.” He says, his smile turning into a smirk.

“Listen, listen, liste- Otabek, _listen_.” The man rushes out of his mouth, jerking forward as much as he could while still being confined.

Otabek makes a face at the unpleasant sound. “Don’t jerk around so much, that noise is really annoying.”

The man doesn’t listen and it makes Otabek clench his teeth.

“I can grab my things and leave Russia in two days. I’ll change my name. You’ll never hear about me again. I’ll just disappear like- like poof.” The man forces out a  laugh while flashing him a smile that looks _so_ incredibly desperate and frantic that Otabek wishes he could take a picture so he could jerk off to it later. “Just between you and me, huh? Just bet-”

The man’s adam’s apple bobs heavily at the unchanged expression on Otabek’s face.

“Tomorrow, I’ll- _tonight, I’ll leave tonight._ ”

“Look. This is how things are going to go.” Otabek begins with an assertive tone as he approaches the man. He wraps his fingers around his throat and squeezes until there is a tell-tale sound of choking coming out of him.

“I’m going to do what I want-” The man shakes his head, his eyes as wide as they go and tries to jerk out Otabek’s grip. It makes him squeeze tighter and land a slap across the man’s face. The whimper he hears at the impact pleases him.

“I’m going to do what I want and you’re going to just sit there. It’s not that hard; is it?”

The man makes a gurgling noise in response and Otabek slaps him again but much harder this time, eliciting a pained sob from the quivering man. The warm tingling sensation on his hand excites him greatly.

“You wouldn’t last ten fucking minutes being tortured for information. No wonder you’re a goddamn betrayer. You think you’re smart, don’t you? You think you’re very clever, and you can get by in life being a fucking weakling.”

The only reply he gets is the man jerking under him, his complexion steadily growing red, his eyes rolling back.   

When he releases his grasp, the man coughs so hard that for a moment Otabek genuinely expects blood to come out of his mouth but it doesn’t.

“ _You don’t want to do this. You don’t really want to._ ” The man croaks out when he gets his voice working again and Otabek cracks the biggest, most empty smile anyone has ever seen plastered on his face at how fucking wrong he is.

The man realises he is barking up the wrong tree then and the expression of utter horror in his face is such a delight that Otabek almost feels sorry that he can’t keep him like this forever.

“I need you to shut up now.”

 _“H-hail Mary, f-f-f-f-full of grace. Our Lord is with-with yo-._ ”

Otabek breathes in and looks away.

 _“Bles- blessed are y-y-you among women, and- and- and- and-..._ ” The man’s lips quiver.

“...blessed is the fruit of your womb,” Otabek says as he lifts his eyebrows expectantly, tilting his head forward, gathering some patience.

The man looks up at him with wide eyes and opens his mouth but only several guttural noises comes out.

“Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” Otabek finishes for him. “You good now? Not going to hell anymore? I think you should say a couple more for that to happen, but unfortunately, I don’t really have the time.”

The man swallows thickly and starts breathing in and out very quickly.

“Lost your voice, old man?”

The man opens and closes his mouth a few times, still not saying anything. His face, which was red just a while ago has gone almost completely pale.

“I think I know how to make you speak.” Otabek says sweetly as he walks to the cupboard next to the coat rack and takes out some old newspapers he saved just for occasions like this.

He is allowed to make a mess, yes, but at his own expense. He is the one who has to clean this all up and it would be stupid to not make it easier for himself.

He carefully puts it around the man who still refuses to speak and then goes back to the cupboard.

Otabek is a knife man, so naturally he has a large array of knives at his disposal, all cleaned and sharpened with anticipation of the next time he’ll get use them. He can’t pick out any old knife for what he wants to do, so he picks out the Zwilling meat cleaver he impulse bought one night about a month ago.

Feeling the weight of the cleaver in his hand, he brings the stool standing next to the wall with him as he walks back to the man now doing jerky movements as he tries to scoot away, though not really making much progress.

Otabek watches him with amusement for a few seconds before he puts the stool down next to him and then grabs his wrist roughly, placing his hand flat on the stool.

The man makes a high pitched whine at the back of his throat and tries to pull his hand back but Otabek’s grip remains intact.

“This only will hurt a lot, so feel free to tell me if it’s too much. I do very well with feedback.”

At the silence of the man, Otabek raises the cleaver.

“N-no, no, no, no, no, stop, no, n-stop, stop, _stop, stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop-_ ”

_Chop._

Several minutes and a lot of crying later, the man loses his voice again, but for an entirely different reason.  

After admiring his work, Otabek walks to the cupboard again, picking out his trusty metal bat. He wants to break some bones today, and he is frankly getting very impatient to do so. He would usually play around more with his knives before he started with this but, he thinks, with a soft chuckle, a broken rib or two won’t hurt.

As he is walking back, Otabek notices that somewhere along the way the man has pissed himself.

“What are you, fucking _five_ ?” Otabek mocks, his laughter sickly sweet. “Fuck that, even a five year old can hold it in. You’re a fucking _joke_.”

The man does not look up and Otabek finds himself surprised at how much he is enjoying this. Anticipation bubbles in his gut and he feels something akin to giddiness at the way the man doesn’t find it in himself to respond.

He raises the bat, half smirking when the man looks up at him and nearly spills the contents of his mouth everywhere at the sight. The only thing that actually happens is he splutters out a little more blood from the corners of his mouth. It’s understandable though, his lips being stapled shut and everything.

Otabek breathes in to welcome the rush he’s about to feel from the sound of the bat whizzing across the air and the responding force he’ll feel from the impact of it on the man’s torso.

But it never comes, because right before he swings, _Yuri_ opens the door unceremoniously and walks into the room like it’s his own damn house. The door closes on its own behind him, and he leans his back on the wall right next to it. Otabek doesn’t move.

He is wearing a tailored black pinstriped vest with a tasteful burgundy Armani- no, Dolce & Gabbana shirt. His sleeves are folded up enough to reveal his pale forearms and it’s like looking at a blank canvas. He distantly realises once more that he falters far too easily around Yuri and this loss of control is something he dislikes and welcomes at the same time. He makes Otabek’s head rush and fingers itch.

He lowers the bat, then it strikes him. They are in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Yuri is suppose to be at his house waiting to be picked up. Instead, he is here wrinkling his nose at him with distaste.

“Not your colour, yellow.”

“Why are you here?” Otabek asks with more curiosity than irritation, turning only his gaze towards the other.

“Papa sent me. You’re my babysitter, right?” Yuri clenches his teeth and tilts his head to the side with half a wince while looking at the man tied to the chair.

“Alexeev drove me, we have some business to take care of near Solntsevo in a couple hours. Papa has a meeting with the Pahkan of the Solntsevskaya Bratva and he wants me to be there.” He says, his bright green eyes not leaving Otabek’s as he fiddles with a candy bar he just took out of his pocket.

Otabek grunts, both of them ignoring the whimpers coming from other man in the room but the fact that Yuri does take a quick look at him again with a certain amount of discomfort doesn’t escape Otabek.

“Why don’t you just wait for me outside then?” He says patiently. “I won’t take long.”

Yuri makes a displeased face. “But Alexeev is so _boring_ Beka.” He whines. “He doesn’t even know what Instagram is. Can you fucking believe that? If you cared about my life even a little bit, you wouldn’t make me go back outside.”

Otabek tries to imagine a life without Yuri but he doesn’t get very far because his thoughts are interrupted.

“Don’t let me stop...” Yuri gestures vaguely. “whatever you were doing. Go on.”

“Yuri.” It comes out rough so Otabek clears his throat, puts on a caring smile and tries again.

“Yura, you don’t want to see this.”

Yuri’s expression changes slightly, as if he is dropping the act momentarily.

The endearment is something he doesn’t use often and he knows Yuri is fond of it- probably simply because of that exact reason. Yuri pretends he doesn’t care much for Otabek but Otabek isn’t stupid and he can tell that’s not the case.

Yuri likes attention, he likes when people do what they tell him and being the son of the Pakhan, he practically has everyone at his feet because one word from him could be the end of their life. Everyone sucks up to him. Everyone but Otabek.

Otabek does exactly what Yuri asks him to, even things that are outside his duties as a bodyguard, but never gives him the satisfaction of feeling superior. The truth is, Yuri wants Otabek to _like_ him and it’s easy to use this as an advantage during times Yuri is being extra stubborn. A little affection goes a long way as long as it’s subtle enough for Yuri to accept it.

Looking at Yuri’s widened eyes that are half covered with strands of soft looking blond hair, Otabek thinks about how much he loves these little moments. A solitary second in which he manages to shock Yuri, making his face become so pure that he wants to gnaw on it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for the expression to be reconstructed.

“Just keep going.” Yuri says, looking away in an artificially nonchalant way as he tightens his fingers on the candy bar in his hand.

“Yura.”

Yuri makes a face that tells Otabek he is catching on, so he changes tactics.

“There isn’t even any reception here.” It’s a risky one because it’s so obvious but Otabek is getting tired of the growing ache inside him to continue.

“I’ll live.” Yuri says stubbornly and Otabek gives up. He watches Yuri eye the bat in his hand and then speak again. “Why don’t you just shoot him?”

 _Because that makes me feel nothing._  

“To send a message.” Otabek lies. “I take a picture or two, then people know what really happens to those who betray the Bratva.”

“Hm.” Yuri sounds unimpressed and it annoys Otabek but he forces himself to focus on the man in front of him again.

He adjusts his grip and tightens his fingers around the bat once more, trying to get his head back in the game. The wince that he sees on the man’s face at his action gets him in the mood again and right when he’s about to swing he hears rustling.

Of a candy bar wrapper.

“Yuri.” He huffs out, closing his eyes.

“ _What?_ ” Yuri says as if he has no idea what’s going on. “Why did you stop?”

Otabek stares at Yuri for a long moment to try to get his point across before he steadies himself. He won’t let Yuri ruin this. He won’t.

He looks at the man in front of him again, trying to dig up every semblance of patience he has left in the corners of his mind to form some kind of block so he won't lose the last bit of sanity he has managed to hold on to.

The man seems to have relaxed a bit at their exchange and this makes it all the better as Otabek winds up his bat once more and sees the man clench and splutter again, noticing that Otabek is actually going to do it this time and-

Otabek growls as he hears the sound of the candy bar wrapper again, louder this time, and the metal bat hits the concrete. The clatter echoes so loudly that he would have winced if he wasn't so busy with turning around to take a step towards Yuri, seeing red.

Yuri raises his eyebrows but he doesn’t move apart from that which makes Otabek _even angrier._  “What, you’re going to hit your boss?” He simply says, then starts to nibble on the chocolate calmly.

Otabek curls his fingers into fists. “You’re not my boss, your dad is.” He lets out between clenched teeth.

Something twinkles in Yuri’s eyes. _Fucking brat_. Otabek forces himself to loosen his fists because he can practically feel his knuckles turning white and is almost sure his nails digging into his skin has made him start bleeding.

“Your job is to protect me Altin. Not hurt me.”

Otabek breathes out very very slowly and turns around to pick up the metal bat once more.

“What’s that...in his mouth?”

Otabek blinks. “A finger. A few of them actually.” He says in an amused tone, proud of his work. He thinks for a moment that Yuri maybe could share this feeling with him.

“H-...his _own_?”

The voice sounds so unsteady that Otabek abandones trying to pick up the bat and quickly looks back at him instead.

Yuri looks like he’s about to be sick.

“You’re _disgusting_ Altin. _Truly_.” He whispers loudly and it seems like he is narrowly keeping himself from gagging. “I’ll go with Alexeev. See you tomorrow.”

 _But you hate Alexeev_ , he wants to say.

“But tonight is movie night.” he hears himself say. He instantly wishes he hadn’t so he tries to remedy it. “I already ordered your pizza.”

“Whatever, I’ll have someone else pick up and I’ll tell Papa you had to take care of Smirnov’s leftovers.”

“Smirnov? Who’s Smirnov?”

Yuri looks at him like he is dumb and nods at the tied up man. “Him.” He says and then squints his eyes at Otabek. “You didn’t fucking recognise him? He was your boss before me. Even I know that. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ ”

The door closes after him but it’s not loud solely because of the fact that Otabek installed a door closer on it not too long ago. For a moment it makes Yuri’s exit feel less impactful than it actually is.  

Otabek looks back at the man- at _Smirnov_ then sighs heavily while squeezing his eyes so hard that they hurt. He takes off the raincoat and tosses it to the side.

Yuri has seen him like this before, Yuri has seen him worse, Yuri has no reason to be so disgusted, Yuri _knows_ , Yuri is _fucking with him_ and he _hates it_ and he’s _furious_ and he’s _dick is pressing up against his fucking zipper so hard._

He unbuckles his belt reluctantly, unzips, lowers his Calvin Klein Black Microfiber boxer briefs until the elastic is resting under his balls and doesn’t even hear the weak protests coming from Smirnov.

Halfway through fucking his throat angrily, the fluorescent light on the ceiling flickers in succession, then stops working completely. He doesn’t even notice he already orgasmed until he pulls out after a while and sees the string of come that extends from Smirnov’s mouth to the head of his cock. Some of it pours down from his slack mouth down his chin, dripping below. Something passes his mind about him being his old boss and having done _this_ to him in an attempt to milk out some satisfaction out of the situation but it does nothing for him.

He sticks his Miyabi Birchwood bread knife up to the hilt with some difficulty right under the ribcage of the already unmoving man and watches him bleed out from the corner of the room with the pale light coming from the dirty industrial window above him until he notices the room has gone completely dark.

Yuri wants to play?

He’ll play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [mercury](http://www.mercuryandglass.tumblr.com) who gotta get her get her get her head in the game.


End file.
